


A whatever it is dynamic

by Tabata



Series: Leoverse [59]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 20:11:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10226300
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tabata/pseuds/Tabata
Summary: Casey deals in perfection. Everything in his escort service is flawless down to the smallest detail. But Casey's strong point is knowing which one of his boys is perfect for a certain client.And Blaine knows that very well.





	

**Author's Note:**

> **WARNING:** This story is an **AU** from the original 'verse. What happens in here has little to none correlation with what happens in Leonard Karofsky-Hummel VS The world or Broken Heart Syndrome. The characters involved are (mostly) the same, but situations and relationships between them may be completely different.  
>  In this particular AU Leo, Cody and Adam are three very expensive escorts working for Casey's legal escort agency in a fictional modern New York. Blaine is an actor who has decided to quit his job at the peak of his career and retire in the Hamptons with his three favorite hookers, who he plans to buy from Casey. The only problem is that none of the boys knows about the others.  
> This story is obviously set before any of this happens.

Blaine stops the Audi and gives the valet one of his best businessman like smiles, except that he's not a businessman at all. He learned long ago that actors are not – contrary to popular belief – welcomed everywhere indistinctly just because they are very rich.

That is mostly because the kind of money an actor can have, despite being a fair amount compared to people with more mundane jobs, can't in any way be compared to what businessmen earn in an hour in this particular part of town. And in his experience, valets are much more inclined to treat your car well if you bought it with the return on your stocks than with the proceeds from your last movie. Blaine doesn't know why, it is just the way it is.

He gets out of the car and gives the valet the keys. “I will be out in a few hours.”

“Yes, sir.”

The man probably knows very well what is going on in some of the apartments in the building, but he doesn't show knowledge of any kind beyond his job, which he performs with irreproachable skill – as it is to be expected by such high-profile personnel.

Casey deals in perfection and he never disappoints. His attention to details is what makes him so successful in his line of work. Not only he has the best on the market – which is a trademark in and of itself because you know you are getting something good if you go to him – but he owns some of the most private and beautiful places around town, which provide very classy environments.

Blaine has been here before – at least every month in the past four years, if not more – but the sight of the building and the promise of what it contains never chases to give him a thrill. He owns a key to the main entrance door – something Casey reserves only to very special clients (and to his friends, apparently) – but he waits for the doorman to open the door for him. It seems only polite not to barge in as if he owned the place, even if he could really own it with all he paid so far to be here.

The doorman nods in his direction, but without showing any sign that he remembers him; but that is not possible because, unlike valets who change a lot, this man was here the first time Blaine showed up and every single time after that. But there is an unspoken rule that, if somebody should ask this man about it, Blaine had never been here. Not that Blaine cares about anything anybody would have to say – in fact, his plans for the future actually involve very little secrecy about the topic – but it is always funny to see how everything works around here.

Leo's apartment is a two thousand square feet flat on the top floor, with two bedrooms and exclusive access to the roof terrace, which is as big as the apartment itself. Casey rents it to him at a very small fraction of what its real rent should be as long as Leo keeps it presentable and uses it for work as well. The door is reinforced steel and there is a camera just on top of it, so the boy can see who comes to his door.

There have been some security issues in the past, a stalker and a couple of drunk entrepreneurs who weren't used to receive no as an answer. Casey hired a security guard for a while and then the reinforced door came along, resolving most of the problems. It is like the entrance to a panic room. It can't be opened from outside and Leo has total control over it from the inside.

Blaine rings the doorbell and smiles at the camera when he sees the light turn green. The lock clicks open almost immediately. “Anderson,” Leo greets him, casually leaning against the door. “You are early. I'm waiting for my three o'clock.”

“I am your three _and_ six o'clock,” Blaine explains, entering the house. Leo doesn't move away from the door and skillfully opens it only enough to let him through, so he can brush against his body. “I bought both slots.” 

Leo is pricey enough that he doesn't need to fill his day with clients to earn his daily quota. In fact, Casey never overbooks him, not wanting to exploit him too much. He is always very careful about who gets to have him, and a few others of his best boys, and for how long. So, basically, Blaine just booked Leo's entire afternoon. “It means you're gonna have to pay me twice,” Leo says, closing the door. “You know that, right?”

Blaine chuckles as he takes off his jacket and hangs it. “I thought you weren't crunching numbers,” he comments. “In fact, I distinctly remember you saying that you were taking care of the fun side of the job, leaving the administrative side to Casey.”

“That is true, but it doesn't mean I can't warn you,” Leo says.

“Don't worry, I already paid in advance.” Blaine nods towards the computer. “But you can check if you want.”

Leo seems to consider it, but he ultimately shakes his head. Not that Blaine were expecting anything different, he knows the kid like the back of his hand. “Nah, I trust you, Anderson.”

Blaine shakes his head, amused. Leo was the first of Casey's boys he chose. To be honest, he didn't even choose him. It's more like that Leo was bestowed upon him by Casey himself in an attempt to win a bet that had been going on between them for years.

At the time, Blaine didn't enjoy any escort service, not Casey's not anybody else's. Of course, he had nothing against the idea – he's got a very open mind about sexuality, and as long as all the parties involved are adult, happy and consenting, he firmly believes anything can be done – he just didn't think it would do for him. He was used to cruise the clubs and come back home with a different man every night. He liked the thrill of the hunt, so to speak, and he didn't understand where was the appeal in having a boy ready-for-the-taking at the show of a credit card. To him, it was like being handed a lion already dead instead of taking it down himself with his rifle, to use a simile the media would totally roast him for.

Casey disagreed. He said Blaine was looking at it the wrong way. The escorts were performers, in some way, and that he would enjoy what he had every night after cruising, but done better and by better people. It was, according to Casey's words, like trying to make lasagna at home versus eating it in an Italian restaurant in Bologna. You could do everything right and make something edible, even good perhaps, but could it be better than the lasagna prepared by professional?

Similes and examples had gone on for months, until Casey's annual sponsoring party.

Casey is not just a pimp, if you can call like that someone who operates at a very different level than your common thug down the street. He started like one, yes, but now he's as far as being one as he possibly can. He is, by any definition, an entrepreneur. He legitimately owns a company that yields him hundreds of thousands of dollars every year, and he invests part of those profits in other less frowned upon projects, including charities. A lot of people don't know if they should feel contempt for him or thanks him for helping the economy.

In his stable, he's got only people willing to work for him. Sometimes he recruits – especially if he comes across someone very peculiar – but more often than not people have to come to him asking for a job to be hired. Since he himself went through the hell of selling himself out of necessity, he's not okay with exploitation. For the same reason, he never takes into consideration trades involving human beings from other escort's services, and he doesn't work with individual who turned to him in desperation. He knows from experience that a person asking to be an escort because he can't buy food doesn't really want to be one. In these cases – which luckily are very very rare – he usually tries to redirect these people to other tasks. There's always need of good maids, butlers and valets, anyway.

He writes regular contracts, with regular clauses – that tend to be heavily to his benefit, to be honest, but in this his company is not different from any other company – and he provides his employees with healthcare, insurance, and enough personal profit. Yes, he tends to hold on to documents and his contracts are always long-term and pretty expensive to rescind, but all in all, he's an honest employer, and his company provides a very good work environment.

To keep all this going, of course, the prices of his escorts are simply stellar, but at least they are compensated with quality. Considering the way he wants to run his business – as legal as possible and as profitable for everybody involved as possible – he has a lot of expenses that he would not be able to cover all the time just with his revenues. This is where his genius comes in. The escorts need cars to move around the city, they need clothes to wear, food to offer their clients and a million other things. And instead of paying for them from his own pocket, Casey is always looking for sponsors that could do that for him.

At the beginning, companies weren't so eager to have their names associated with Casey's, but after a while they started to collaborate with him, also attracted by the small shares of the company he was starting to give away to the best of his sponsors. At this point, his escorts ride the best cars, wear the best clothes and offer the best of everything to their clients. Competition is not even a thing for Casey. Nobody is at his level anymore.

Among the many events Casey organizes every year – including charity balls and dinners, fundraisers and the occasional liberals campaigns – there's a sponsoring party, during which he usually renews partnerships, finds new one and presents the new additions to his stable. He's also big on promotion. After all, you can't expect people to know what you have if you don't show them to him.

A few years ago Blaine was at one of these parties – only as a guest, him being Casey's friend long before he became the new Rockefeller – and Casey returned to the attack. The place was wonderful, people were having fun and he had closed a lot of new deals, so he was probably a little more drunk than he was aware of. Casey asked him if he was still convinced that escorts didn't do for him, and when Blaine said that he most certainly was, he smirked.

“I studied you, Blaine,” he said with a little slur, perhaps, but also the tone of someone who knows very well what he's talking about. “You want to hunt, I know, but that's only because you've had so many different men in your life that you've seen them all, and now you get bored easily. You think only you can find someone peculiar enough to tickle your appetites. But that's where you're wrong. I think I have the perfect one for you.”

Blaine would have liked to disagree about that one more time, but there was no point in that. Besides, Casey's tongue was more loose than usual and he was funny to watch. They made a bet. Blaine was going to try this wonder boy Casey had in store for him, and if the boy was going to blow his mind like Casey said he would, then Blaine would become a regular costumer.

That's how Blaine ended up being Leo's (and several others') client.

“Do you want something to drink?” Leo stops in front of the kitchen, which alone takes up a quarter of the house, and stares at him, one of his eyebrows gracefully arched as if he wasn't sure this is the right way to proceed. 

Leo's strong suit is not waiting on clients. There are escorts trained to be perfect hosts (some of them are even naturally gifted at that) and usually take care of their clients long before they even get to the bedroom, but Leo is not one of them. Sometimes he doesn't even seem to understand the importance of pleasantries. Even foreplay are a mildly necessary nuisance for him. He compensates with other gifts, including being very enthusiastic in bed, which makes him one of the best when you need someone with stamina between the sheets.

He can literally keep doing it over and over for hours, which is a nice experience when you book him for more than sixty minutes.

“Do you have anything that wouldn't be filed under _soda_?” Blaine asks, amused. Last time he was here, Leo's offer was followed by a wide choice of soft drinks. He had so many different kind of them that Blaine was genuinely impressed. But he still couldn't drink any of them. His nutritionist strictly forbade him any drink with that amount of sugar in it. If anything, wine is better. And he surely took him at his word, basically drinking wine whenever it's a legitimate alternative to plain water.

Leo makes a face, well aware he's being mocked. “Of course,” he says. Then he disappears behind the counter and reemerges with a cardboard gift box with two bottles of red in it. “Casey passed by the other day and left this here,” he says, looking at it as if he didn't know what to do with it, which ultimately is true. “He said it was a present from a client. For me. Like, the guy clearly didn't get shit of me.”

“Are you allowed to speak like that?” Blaine asks, grabbing one of the bottles and studying it. He's not very good at assessing quality based on the year, but it's a Chianti and they're usually very good. He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up his forearm – a gesture he knows will surely catch Leo's attention – and then grabs the bottle opener Leo is handling him.

“Usually not,” Leo admits, candidly. “Unless someone asks me to.”

“So, should I consider myself special?”

Leo looks up at him, his blue eyes half-hidden by his incredibly long eyelashes. He doesn't answer, but the smirk on his lips says it all. Leo doesn't treat Blaine like a client at all – he never really did, if Blaine has to be honest – and Blaine sure as hell doesn't treat him like an escort. They talk about money and appointments and other clients, but it never sounds awkward or aseptic or business-like. They treat those topics as normally as any other thing they talk about: Blaine's job, movies, books, life outside these walls. It's a bit of a game they're playing, and it's probably going to be very dangerous at some point or other, but they both enjoy it immensely. 

The first time Blaine met Leo, he didn't understand why Casey had chosen him among the army of boys he had to prove to him that his escort service was something he too could enjoy. If the premises of their bet was that Blaine had had a lot of different men and he now got bored easily, Blaine didn't understand why Leo could make him change his mind. He didn't seem the most obvious choice.

He was certainly beautiful, with his curly black hair and his blue eyes, that had an Asian quality to it, but Blaine had met a lot of gorgeous men in his life and he couldn't see how this one in particular could turn his world upside down. He had seemed an incredible mistake on Casey's part. He was going to lose the bet.

And yet, Casey turned out to be right.

He clearly knows him better than Blaine thought, or he's really good at reading people. Either way, he hooked Blaine up with someone who could push new buttons inside him, and in the right order to booth. 

When Blaine met him, Leo had just turned eighteen – he was barely legal to work for Casey – and it was refreshing just looking at him. Now, Blaine's tastes didn't tend necessarily towards younger people, but there was something in Leo that instantly caught Blaine's eye. It took him a while, a lost bet and several encounters with him to really understand what it was. 

Leo is an adult all right, but he can get so excited sometimes that it's like having a kid around. And he's still got some childish traits – he easily pouts or gets offended, he likes jokes and playing around and he's got nothing of the usual serious seductiveness of the other boys that do this job – and that brings out Blaine's fatherly side. A side he was not even aware he had.

Now, four years later, Leo hasn't changed that much. He is a pest, and he's got no control whatsoever on his tongue or his emotions, and Blaine is crazy for him just because of that. 

On the other hand, Leo is – consciously or unconsciously, Blaine doesn't know – always looking for a paternal figure, which he usually tends to antagonize when he's crossed, as cliche as it may sound.  
Blaine is no psychologist, but he doesn't need a degree to know this goes back to Leo's fight with his parents, which happened a few years before they met. Blaine doesn't know exactly what happened between him and his two fathers, but it must have been really bad because every time he tries to talk about it with him, Leo always closes right up and refuses to speak again unless he changes the topic.

So, what escort-client dynamic was there in the beginning – if there ever was one – has long ago turned into this, whatever it is.

“Is it any good?” Leo asks, from behind his can of coke. He's still wearing his pajamas – a pair of loose gray pants and a t-shirt that says _You pay me to be naked, so what does it matter how I'm dressed?_ , which says a lot about him, but makes Blaine wonder what kind of person was Leo's three o'clock appointment before Blaine took away his slot.

“It's great, actually,” Blaine answers, licking his lips. “Do you want some?”

“Nah, I don't need to get drunk to be with you.”

Blaine chuckles. “Always the charmer.”

“I know, I'm irresistible.”

Leo grabs his coke and brings it with him as he exits the kitchen and leads the way. They take a long corridor that opens up in the huge living room. Leo keeps two couches in there and a huge TV that covers half the wall, but Blaine knows that all this is for show, or better, for those clients who like to start in a different place before ending up in the bedroom. Leo's policy is to never fuck in the rest of the house, but sometimes clients just want to undress him in the kitchen or something. Some of them even like to pretend it is a real date and want to start watching movies with him and so on.

And that's okay, he likes role playing a lot.  
More of the elves and wizards kind, but those too work just fine.

So, the room is real, but he barely uses it as such. Leo's true reign is what he calls _media room_. Some sort of man cave, except that instead of beers, a pool and a working table, there's the biggest, wider couch Blaine has ever seen – almost two times the size of a double bed –, a TV bigger than the one in the living room, every consoles known to man and a roof-to-ceiling, wall-to-wall bookcase filled with games, books and what Blaine calls dolls but are, apparently, _action figures_. And also a double door fridge, now.

“What is that?” Blaine asks, stopping just outside the media room as they pass in front of it.

Leo stops and comes back, looking inside the room. “What? Oh! Yes. That's your last check.”

“What do you need a fridge in the media room for?” Blaine ask, puzzled. The mention of his payments doesn't upset him in the slightest. In fact, Leo always tells him what he did with his money, and Blaine even helped him on some of his purchases. He never accompanied him anywhere, of course, but he suggested him a few good shops to him. 

“Well, for beverages and perishables, of course!” Leo says, and then he points at a new little black cabinet Blaine hadn't noticed right next to the fridge. “I bought a mini snack pantry, too.”

“Very well. I will change my question, then. Why do you need to keep food and beverages in here when you have a kitchen?”

Leo shrugs and grabs his hand, pulling him along. “Keeping everything in the kitchen would mean going to the kitchen every time I'm hungry or thirsty.”

“That's pretty much the point of having a kitchen,” Blaine points out.

“Yeah, but who's got time to do that during a campaign?”

Blaine is about to asks what is he talking about – sometimes the kid just says things that make no sense to him – but he is turning right, towards the bedroom, and Leo pulls him the other way. “What?”

“You can come this way.” That's the only thing Leo says.

A the end of that hall there's only Leo's own bedroom, the one he uses for himself.  
This, more than any words or unwritten rules, defines the dynamic between them.


End file.
